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A/N: This is a one-shot told explicitly from Arizona's POV that I felt inspired to write very early this morning, it may be ramblings, maybe not but I wanted to just get it out. It follows the recent storyline, set about 3 months after the storm only Arizona has kissed but not had sex with Leah, she has been begging and apologising to Callie and Callie is still in that heightened anger phase. There's denial, avoidance, a glimmer into Arizona's head whilst she's using her smiley façade, I don't think that she's just happy and a-ok right now and tried to convey this. Please enjoy!
We pass one another just at the door. Fated to a near miss, two bodies forever moving in opposite directions. Her dark form slips past me, ghost like in its coldness making me shiver and burn in equal measures. I feel her eyes more than see them upon me. She's so close that I can smell the existing Patron off her person. Tequila, her old friend, my new one. I hold her excruciating gaze for as long as she can bare, two fierce souls penetrating one another silently and then she's gone. The door slams shut and she has walked out into the street lit up like candles. I clench my jaw and suck my lip into my mouth, determined to draw blood instead of tears. She's equal parts sweet and sour for me and I can still feel the anger resonating from her being. This whole bar can.
They stare. I knew they would. They always do. A game of whispers around the room; amputee, lesbian, Boswell, cheater, whore, hotel, wife. I feign interest, deaf to the murmurs vibrating through the air and creating a density that makes it hard to breathe. The current taste of dark rum plays with my tongue and I almost feel like I could empty the contents of my stomach. I'm not certain if it is because of her or the previous alcohol I've swallowed.
Avoidance. I avoid. I avoid the looks, the judgement, Joe's eye contact. I avoid the frivolities taking place because of a recent engagement in a group that third year residents are celebrating. I avoid the looks Murphy is shooting me after I chastised her earlier today. I also avoid thinking of my mistakes, of her. Going there, really going there feels a lot like Pandora's Box or some kind of horrifying rabbit hole. If I slip I'll keep falling and I don't have my wife to catch me anymore. I'm not sure what I have left. Left of my life. Left of me.
I place my order and sit on the worn leather stool where so many before me have sat to do just the same thing I have come here once again to do. Forget. My ring clinks the glass containing my preferred poison for the night and I smile at the irony of it, a flashback to Callie slipping it on my finger. The memory is pushed into the recesses of my mind as I gulp a large portion of the double rum down. I stare at the concoction, one hand firmly attached to the glass, the other toying with the lighter in my jacket pocket. Another flaw.
I knock back the remaining liquid. Joe's eyebrows raise and he makes a 'drink' gesture with his hand, signifying his duty to pour me another. I smile politely and shake my head before dropping the ten onto the heavily marked mahogany. I've already had four and a shot of tequila. They're looking again. All the way to the door I push down the urge to scream at them, what do they want from me? What can they possibly receive when I have nothing left to give?
I pull my jacket tighter around my frame as I make my way onto the sidewalk, the chill in the air creating quite perfect pathetic fallacy. I stumble slightly and am glad of the wall behind. My prosthetic not combining fantastically with the alcohol coursing through my veins right now. It's working though, doing its part, hazing, phasing, releasing. Only it's not, because I need some company right now but when I go to look at my phone and I scroll through the contact list I see her name so vividly and I swear it feels like my chest is bursting. I push a button and it is gone. Why don't they make one of those for life?
I push back off the wall and roll my neck around. The tightness I try and convince myself is a remainder of a seven hour surgery today and not the remnants of a lonely sleepless night. Traffic is rolling in every direction with people eager to get back to their families, meet up with friends, rejoice in the weekend and enjoy life. I spot a free cab and signal it my way. It stops just before me and I can see the man inside looking at me expectantly. I get in and sit there.
"Where to?"
I stare. Nothing comes out and I don't know. I have no answer for him. Where the fuck am I going?
"Look I need to get an address if you want to go some place." He is impatient. I don't particularly blame him. I inhale and exhale sitting stoic in my position.
"You listening to me? What you high or some shit?" His head has turned around as he surveys the backseat trying to figure out if I'm about to pass out or possibly spoil his interior. I stare right through him before speaking.
"I'm sorry to have wasted your time." It doesn't even sound like my voice, so hollow and it feels even less like my body as I awkwardly pull myself out of the cab, careful of my foot placement and use the door for extra balance. I hear him curse as he tears out of the space and I forget about him instantaneously as my feet find life in steps northwards. I'm unaware of my surroundings as I blindly walk the short journey, only stopping once I have reached the door my key slots perfectly into. I do not remember the elevator or if I even passed anyone on the way up. I'm focused and yet blurred. Some optician test on the wall no one can read with precision.
And then I'm there, autopilot taking over for my inebriated form. I slip the other key into the lock and turn it without giving a shit about the consequences because I felt it and I know she did too. It's the one thing that's unavoidable.
The place is very dimly lit and she's still in her leather jacket as she pours herself a drink of tequila, the expensive bottle we were saving for a special occasion. As I appear, shock overtakes her making her dispense the amber drink all over the worktop and she hastily corrects the bottle's angle murmuring 'fuck' but unmoving in her stance. I'm as mute with her as I am with the cab driver and this is wholly more unnerving and sobering than I had ever anticipated.
"You don't live here anymore." It's as painful as she intended it. I lick my lips in desperation for moisture.
"I-."
"You. Don't. Live. Here. Anymore." She repeats and spits the words at me with venom I feel deserving of and I take it. I will always take it. I glance towards Sofia's room, the weight of disappointment heavy as I miss my baby girl and she catches it.
"She's at Meredith's tonight." I just nod and suppose it's a thank you favour for what my wife has done for the Shepherds recently, what she used to do for me. I watch as she shots the tequila and pours a second. She's luminous and I can't help but stare. Really stare at her with unabashed everything. Because she is everything or I thought she was and maybe she still is but it's an uncertainty now because I feel so very broken and unable to understand any of my actions of late other than surgical and she's watching me drink her in and looks like she wants to throw the bottle at me and watch us both shatter.
She slams the glass down and it gives me a fright, making me aware I'm still fixated here. I'm still alive. "You need to go."
"Callie-" I try.
"No. No!" Her voice raises and she steps towards me, bangs falling in her near ebony eyes at the movement, she always did look miraculous with her hair down. "Do not think for one minute you get to just barge in here and talk your way out of this. I don't need to listen to you or one of your 'speeches' and I don't owe you shit Arizona."
She has so utterly perfected devastation. I swallow and look upwards internally cursing the fact that I have created this new character trait. She is also right though.
"I know," I try but she isn't finished yet. Her tight skinny jeans make a slight scuffing noise as she raises her finger and takes a few more steps as I stand frozen at the door. I swear I catch her eyes roaming over my dark blue dress, stopping at my chest for the slightest pause.
"You don't know anything. You know nothing. How could- I trus…" She exhales and I focus on her lips and await the next emotional bullet. "This is all on you." And there it is. But it doesn't sit right, it is beyond hurtful, this time it is a lie and I react.
"No it's not." The words flow from my tongue quicker than the synapses involved in shutting my mouth and I'm almost as stunned as she is but I can't help but fully believe it as I step forward. Repentance slowly being replaced by audacity, the alcohol emboldening my every muscle as I feel the heat within me rise at her accusation and at the same time I want to push her away and pull her against me. Her nostrils flare and her knuckles tighten against the kitchen worktop.
"I fucked up but you-," I start.
"You fucked another woman!" She moves forward threateningly, pointing again, emphasising my crime. I'm certain we are about to begin one of our now infamous rage matches. I can't help but get off on the reaction they provoke. Right now any reaction from her shows me she's still in there too. It's better than indifference. Anything is better than indifference.
Her tanned skin takes on the faintest hint of red on her cheeks and I feel my body react to hers, her fury so palpable and raw. "You did more than fuck up and now you're here for what Arizona? Forgiveness? To say you're sorry?"She scoffs and I scan her body hungrily before throwing my purse onto the ground, the word sorry awakening something within me. The noise my bag makes resonates in the room as it contents spill all over the wood.
"I'm done saying sorry. I've said it a thousand times. I've begged, I've pleaded, I've suggested therapy. I don't know what more you want me to do but tell me and I'll do it!" My voice is raising with each word and I become frantic with need as she just gapes in resentment. "TELL ME!" I scream at her. My fingernails dig into my palms as she storms over within a foot of me.
"TELL YOU?!" She bellows straight back. I can feel the power of it across my features.
I invade her space and step closer. I'm furious at her. Livid at her reluctance to own up to any mistake, take any responsibility for the collapse of our marriage. "YES! TELL ME!"
The next thing I feel is the wind being knocked out of me as I am slammed against our front door with a force that takes several seconds to recover from. When I do, her lips are attacking mine and her hands are digging harshly into my hips both punishing and supporting me. I taste Calliope. I taste the tequila. My tongue fights against hers and I surrender momentarily to the familiar sensation, too stunned to push too far in case I find myself on the other side of the door.
I grip on to her lapels, the material rough as the zip slices across my knuckles opening the skin on my left hand. A moan transcends across the room as she bites my lip purposely and I could die at the feeling of relief it causes. She pulls me forward only to rip my jacket from my torso and throw it to the ground and then I am shoved backwards once more with a sharp thud. My hands find purchase on her collar again and I drag her to my lips once more, hungry for anything she's willing to give. Her own slide up my dress and across my chest gripping so tightly that I am forced to break the kiss and hiss into the near darkness. I place my hands on top of hers, daring her, compelling her to squeeze and mould what is hers, what will always be hers.
I study her face and watch her pupils dilate at the feeling and knowing she has to be as wet as I am. She's refusing to meet my gaze and I understand and instead arch into her strong fingers. She leans forward and pushes her tongue into my mouth once more with fervour, our hands trapped between our bodies. It's duelling and heated and full of fleshy muscle and broken promises and I'm intoxicated by it and unwilling to let go. I can't let go of her. My lungs burn in protest and she pulls away only to press her hand to my chin and turn my head sharply to the right giving her access to my neck which she sucks on almost vampirically. I feel each indentation of her teeth dragging along my now perspiring skin; sure she can taste the saltiness she has created. I moan once more in ecstasy.
Her breaths are coming in shorter spurts now and I know what she wants. I can sense her fury and agitation and want all at once and it is euphoric. She leaves her mark in a form of an angry bite and I'm too lost in this to care of the repercussions. My fists find her black waves and bunch tightly, painfully. She hisses right back at me and once again she's sucking the life out of me as she kisses me deeply.
Need is permeating every fibre of my being as my skin feels like it's simultaneously on fire and frozen. I'm completely at her mercy and in love with the feeling. I have no control. Control. The idea shakes me to my core and I pull away from her mouth, second thoughts about this coming to the forefront of my mind questioning what the fuck I'm doing, we're doing? She senses this. I know she can feel my hesitation and instead of stopping her hands, currently trapping me at either side of my head, they jolt downwards and hoist my dress up to my waist.
In any other circumstance I'd be beyond mortified, worried about my leg, the sickening disgust with myself overtaking my being but I'm not. For the first time since my back met the door she looks me in the eyes. It's a silent request for permission, the only leverage I'm allowed and in that offering I see her. I see her heart, her big heart I once criticised. Within the instant my own swells and it is as though everything I have run from over the past months hits me full on. It's beyond catastrophic and the only thing that stops me falling down is her grasp on my body and my enduring need for her. I close my eyes and nod, unable to look at her for any longer and then I am transformed again as she forces a knee between mine opening my stance, pushes aside my underwear and enters me two fingers at once.
She swallows both our moans and my fingers reconnect with her unruly mane, hauling her into me, tugging the strands into knots. It's devastatingly beautiful feeling so full of her. Her head tips against my shoulder as she uses her hips to thrust, the liquid heat she has created making this an easier task for her hand.
"Fuck," I whisper against her uniquely scented neck and concentrate on every plunge and how it feels like nothing before it because this is the first time I have let anyone who hates and loves me simultaneously, fuck me. Only it's not just fucking as I'm barely holding on to sanity because of her and each grunt she omits only reinforces this more and more. I need to feel her too. I need to know she's feeling this, that she's affected, that she wants me, needs me, loves me still.
I curse again at a particularly powerful thrust and my head falls back against the wood so lost in her momentum. The smell of sex and sweat hits my nostrils and I regain slight focus and so slip my hand down to her jeans and deftly undo her button and zipper. I don't get the chance to see underwear before I tear my hand into them and slide through her readiness. She whimpers at the sensation and falters her propulsion as I circle her engorged clit.
"Yes," is seethingly expelled from her perfect lips and I revel in the feeling the heat provides and the accompanying temporary bliss. She thrusts into me harder than before and I am shaken from my daze all too aware of the transitional situation and so too begin to undo her.
We are one creation, tangled, inseparable. Her breathing is ragged, my voice is hoarse from encouraging, we're stuck in this web of rapture and it's only building as she adds her thumb and touches me. I mimic in hope of peaking together or at least holding out until she has and she lets out a haunting noise of gratification. We rock against the door. The fingers of my left hand digging into her shoulder blades underneath her clothing, probably drawing blood, unnoticed by either of us, I highly doubt she would feel anything else at this point. I know I don't.
I can feel her tightening around my digits, she's getting closer. An errant 'harder' is let out with a grimace, she's straining and her are teeth clamping together, as are her eyelids, preparing for that burst. I give her all that I have and drive into her again and again, my thumb working in tight circles just how she likes it, how I know she'll come undone. It's magnificent and I can feel my own orgasm hastily approaching. Her body stiffens as her teeth bite down on my exposed shoulder blade and I cry out in pain and pleasure combined. Her form shakes and with one loud groan she curses and collapses forward against me throwing me into my own acute release.
I am not sure how we remain standing but we do, ragged breaths sucking in oxygen as reality begins to dawn and I daren't move. I'm in limbo and it's harrowing. Eventually she pulls her fingers free and I feel her hand clasp my wrist and remove mine from her body. The loss is consuming. My dress falls down on its own accord and I can feel the hot tears trickle down my cheeks. I close my eyes in shame and feel her press softly against my lips for a few seconds. "You need to go," is whispered and I know it to be true.
When I open my eyes I see her retreating to what used to be our bedroom. She doesn't look back as she opens the door and closes it. I hear the telltale sign of her slumping against it and I wipe my face hurriedly. Embarrassed. So unbelievably regretful of what I have done not only tonight but for the pain I have caused her. I pick up my belongings and before leaving and stare at the space between us wondering how it got to be so very vast and empty.
A/N: Thank you for reading. I really hoped you enjoyed it. If you did, why not let me know?